


a concierto in you

by jjcofeesa



Series: carry on tumblr fics [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M, Orchestra Kids, band kids, i am fully qualified to tell you that this is not how band works at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjcofeesa/pseuds/jjcofeesa
Summary: SHAWNBAE-NAENAE asks:(I don't know if I'm doing this right but) Could you do a snowbaz high school band au? I love your writing so much >.<





	a concierto in you

**Author's Note:**

> BIG shoutout to shawnbae-naenae on tumblr bc without them i would've never written this. THIS IS NOT HOW BAND WORKS. I AM AWARE OF THAT. I DECIDED NOT TO CARE.

_Simon_

I hate the orchestra pricks. They think they’re better than all of the band kids.

More importantly, I hate Baz Pitch, who’s first chair violin and acts like he’s above _everyone_. Who, for _some reason_ is sitting in the band room playing clarinet.

“Don’t you play violin? Why do you have a clarinet?” I ask, not only because I’m annoyed with how goddamn perfect he has to be, but also because I genuinely want to know what the hell he’s doing here.

“A person can play more than one instrument, Snow,” he sneers back, then turns to his piece and continues playing.

My jaw practically hits the floor.

He’s amazing. 

_Baz_

I wish Snow wasn’t here to gawk at me while I practice my audition piece. It’s quite disconcerting, the way his eyes pop and how he looks genuinely shocked at how I can play.

It’s even more disconcerting how beautiful he looks and how much I want to blush because _Simon fucking Snow is watching me play clarinet and thinks I sound good and what is this witchcraft he hates me what if he’s here to make fun of me what do I do then._

I continue down the page, ignoring him.

Soon I’m too wrapped up in the piece to notice he’s there.

But not too wrapped up to see him leave.

Why did he leave?

 

_Simon_

I feel like I’m invading on something private. His piece is at least four pages long, which gives me enough time to quietly slip out while he’s playing and hide in the bathroom.

I have to catch my breath because _, holy shit that was breathtaking._

He even looked gorgeous playing it.

It’s pretty hard to look even half-decent playing saxophone. (Impossible, according to Agatha, my girlfriend.)(Ex-girlfriend. I still have to get used to that.)

The only reason I still play saxophone is so that I can get a scholarship to college and get out of here.

My father wants me to stay here, and that’s probably where I’ll end up. But if I can play jazz music and entertain the fact that maybe one day he won’t be able to control me, I’ll get through high school.

The bell rings, and I walk out of the bathroom and go to meet up with Penny for lunch.

“Pen, I swear, it was the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her once she’s gotten her lunch and sat down.

“Okay, Simon,” she says, ignoring me and checking something on her phone.  She always gets like this when I talk about Baz. She says I “talk too much” about him but really, I thought he stalked me! I see him everywhere, and it always looks like he’s just looked away from me, like he’s been staring at me but doesn’t want to get caught.

“If he didn’t drive me nuts and wasn’t a creepy stalker I’d-”

“Simon,” Penny says, exasperated, “if you’re going to wax on about your hate for Baz I don’t want to hear it.”

We both fall into silence. Penelope, who’s probably looking at memes (I swear, she’s obsessed) snorts at something and then turns her phone off.

“How’s Agatha?” she asks.

Way to be blunt, Penny.

“I don’t know. Her girls have surrounded her, I can’t even go near her or apologize.”

Penelope shrugs. “I’ll tell her to knock it off later.”

“You don’t have to. She can do whatever.”

“You aren’t going to run back to her?”

“I don’t think so.”

Penny looks impressed, and also like she’s about to give a speech, but then the bell rings and both of us are sent in opposite directions to rush to last period.

I have math, which is alright. I can understand math, there’s always one answer and you never have to fish around for something deeper. And everything makes sense; there are no maybes.

But today, I can’t concentrate.

Baz sits next to me in math.

He’s doodled all over his notes. When I look over, I see that they’re other types of notes. He has a whole song written in the margins of his math binder.

The bell rings, and everyone is rushing to get their stuff away and head home. Baz is no exception; he’s the first one out of the class.

“Baz,” I call after him, “Baz!”

He turns, looking startled for a second, and then he regains his composure.

“What do you want, Snow?” I’ve barely ever heard him speak, but he sounds bored… and a little bit scared? Why is he scared?

“I just- your- ah fuck, your solo this morning sounded really nice,” I stammer. Why can’t I talk normally?

“Thanks,” he says, his face impassive.

_Baz_

“I have a practice room booked for today, d’you…maybe wanna…play with me? There’s a piece that I’ve been looking for a clarinetist for but everyone here is kind of shit,” Snow says in a rush. He either stutters or talks too much, the goddamn beautiful mess.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. I sound bored. _Good._

Ten minutes later, I kind of regret my decision. Simon _has not_ shut up for the entire walk down to the practice rooms. But then again, it isn’t every day that I can actually have Simon fucking Snow babble on to me.

When we finally get in the room Simon pulls out the piece and asks, “How good are you with sight reading?”

I look at the piece. _Doesn’t look too difficult_. “I can manage.”

“Alright, cool.”

We start playing, and it sounds beautiful.

I have never heard classical music that sounded good on an alto saxophone until now.

There’s a part in the piece where he has a solo, and I get to watch him play. His face is so open and full. Simon Snow walks like a ghost around this school, and I am seeing what he looks like when he’s alive. And he’s so alive.

I want to kiss him. (God, does he know that’s why I used to stare at him all the time?  Because he’s gold and light and beauty and I want to kiss him so badly.)

He stops his solo suddenly, looking self-conscious and confused. “What? Did I fuck it up?”

It takes me a second to find my voice and try to rid my face of emotion. “No. No, that was-” I trail off.

He smiles and looks at his feet, and I can see a mole on the back of his neck, next to a faded scar. I want to trace my hands over it and tell him he’s beautiful. I _want_.

And then Snow’s lips are on mine and there is nothing else I could want.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me at infinityonhighvevo.tumblr.com :)


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